by Carol Berg
From the bag Philomena pulled out a lock of Tomas’s red-brown hair tied with a green silk thread. She twined it about her fingers thoughtfully.
“Let it make peace between us,” I said. “If for nothing else than this-your son is the Duke of Comigor. I’ve brought him the Comigor signet ring. I have no child to rival him, and I’m not likely to. This is the house of my father and his fathers before him for thirty generations. I’d not see it destroyed for pointless revenge.”
“I think that’s what Tomas was most angry about,” said Philomena. “That you would do what you did and risk bringing ruin to this decrepit pile of rock. I never understood it.”
My conviction that Tomas had been controlled by the Zhid, the ancient enemies of Karon’s people from the magical world across D’Arnath’s Bridge, was unsupported by physical evidence. But I would have wagered my life on it. “If Tomas had been allowed to think on his own, he would have known that I’d never take such a risk lightly. He might have tried to understand what I told him about my husband and his people. Whatever else, I think he believed me at the end. Will you summon the boy?”
Philomena tossed the lock of hair onto her coverlet and picked up her mirror, first polishing it with a lace handkerchief and then observing her pretty face twisted into a flirtatious pout. “He might not come. He was so much nicer when he was small and the nurse would bring him to us for an hour in the evening. We would dandle him about and then send him off to bed. Now he says such awful things when he’s angry, and he’s angry so often and for no reason.” She pursed her lips, pinched her cheeks, and smoothed the skin over her brows, but she also dispatched one of the maids to find the young duke and tell him his mama most urgently requested him to wait on her.
Philomena continued her self-absorbed activities while we waited. I wandered to the window, unsure of how to broach the subject of the rents. Managing Philomena would be a full-time study. I was delighted that I didn’t have to cope with her for more than a day.
The expansive view from the window behind the heavy draperies was serenely beautiful. The southern face of Comigor fronted wheat fields, a golden ocean that lapped at the stone walls and stretched into the midday haze as far as I could see to east and south.
A glance over my shoulder confirmed that the hissing sound was Philomena’s aunt whispering vehemently in the duchess’s ear. Philomena was not so circumspect with her replies. “She was not the sorcerer. She was only married to one-” When she found my eye on her, the old woman paled and stepped away from the bed. Astonishing how many people believed that marrying a sorcerer must surely imbue a woman with magical powers of her own. I had often wished that to be the case. “-and he’s long dead.”
More time passed. Philomena tapped her teeth with the corner of the silver mirror. “I think you should give the ring to me,” she said abruptly.
I perched on the narrow window seat, where I could both enjoy the prospect and keep an eye on the bedchamber. “I’ll give it only to its proper owner.”
“Why would you care who has it? He’s too young to wear it, and I can take it from him as soon as you leave.”
“If I give it to him, and you take it away, then he will know who has it and who does not. There’ll be no misunderstanding.” I trusted Philomena no further than I could see her.
Philomena sulked until the boy strode into the room. “Gerick, my darling boy. Have you come to brighten your poor mama’s day?”
Philomena didn’t wait for an answer, and the boy didn’t seem inclined to provide one. I didn’t think his answer would be to his mother’s liking anyway. His thin face was contemptuous and aloof, and I would have thought he cared about nothing in the world, except that he so studiously avoided looking at me. Though I stood in a direct line with the door, he proceeded directly to his mother’s bedside and allowed her to peck him on the cheek.
“Gerick, this woman has brought you something that belongs to you. She insists on giving it directly to you, as is her right, but Mama must keep it for you until you come of age.”
The boy turned to me and bowed politely, his eyes devoid of emotion, even curiosity. I waited for Philomena to make a proper introduction, but she said nothing more. So I motioned for the boy to join me on a settle padded with thin red velvet cushions. He positioned himself, stiff as a starched collar, in the farthest corner of the bench.
“I was with your father when he died,” I said. The boy’s eyes grew large, their chilly disdain melted in an instant. “I want to tell you something of that day…”
I had prepared carefully what I would tell him of the strange, fog-bound cavern hidden in the snowy peaks of the Dorian Wall, and of the cruel, empty-eyed warriors who had sought to ensure their dominion over the Four Realms as well as their own far-distant lands by luring the finest swordsman in Leire, the King’s Champion, to fight the Prince of Avonar. I told the story sparingly, so that all I spoke was truth, yet withholding the parts a child could not understand or that it would be dangerous for him to hear. The boy’s attention did not waver through all my telling.
“… And so, you see, they never intended for your father to win the match. They made him confused and angry and didn’t tell him what they planned, for the Prince was pledged not to slay anyone from our lands. It was a most sacred vow that his ancestors had made, and the wicked men wanted to corrupt the Prince. But despite their tricks, your father discovered how he’d been deceived, and he refused to fight the Prince any longer. He told the evil men that there was no honor for King Evard in the match.”
Now came the most difficult part to explain. I dared not touch on the subjects of sorcery and enchantment and D’Arnath’s magical Bridge that linked our world to the world called Gondai and its royal city of Avonar. How could I explain that a soulless warrior Zhid had raised his fist and with terrible enchantments had driven Tomas to madness so that he impaled himself on D’Natheil’s sword? How could anyone, adult or child, comprehend that Prince D’Natheil was truly my husband, Karon, who had once let himself be burned to death rather than betray his Healer’s principles?
“These men were so wicked,” I said, “and their leader so lacking in honor and truth, that they drove your father to fight once more. It was difficult-impossible-for him to see in the fog and the dim light, and when he charged, thinking to slay the evil warriors, he ran right onto the Prince’s sword. The Prince was furious at what the wicked men had done, and he fought the villains until they could do no further harm. The Prince and I tried our best to save your father, but his wounds were terrible, and we could not, I held your father in my arms, and he told me he didn’t suffer. And then he spoke of you.”
The boy’s great eyes were shining, flecks of blue and amber in their rich brown depths, displaying a child’s pain that tugged at my heart no matter my disinterest or resentment. I was pleased that Tomas’s son mourned him. It should be so.
“He said that you were fair and had his looks, and so you do. And he said you were intelligent and opinionated, and that he wanted very much to tell you what a fine son you were. He was very proud of you.”
The boy took a shallow breath with the slightest trace of a quiver in it.
“He died in my arms soon after that. I buried him by that lonely lake with a sword in his hands as was proper for the King’s Champion. When you’re older, if you wish it, I’ll take you there.”
From a green silk bag much like the gray one I had given Philomena, I drew the heavy gold ring with the crest of the four Guardian Rings on it, and I placed it in the boy’s hand. “This is yours now. When the time comes, wear it with the dignity of your father and grandfather. They were not perfect men, but they always did what they thought was right. Great responsibilities come with such a fine thing as this, and you must learn of them as your father would wish.” But, of course, as I watched the boy wrap his slender fingers about the ring so tightly that his knuckles turned white, I wondered who would teach him. Not his mother or her aunt or her fluttering maids.
> The child looked up at me as if seeing me for the first time. His voice was no more than a whisper. “Who are you?”
“My name is Seri. I’m your father’s sister. That would make me your aunt, I suppose.”
I thought I was prepared for whatever his reaction might be to the story I had told him, whether childish tears or controlled sorrow, confusion, or the more common disinterest of an aristocratic child whose parent was preoccupied with great events, but Gerick caught me entirely by surprise.
“The witch!” he screamed, as he jumped up and ran to his mother’s bed. “How dare you come here! How dare you speak of my father! He banished you from Comigor for your crimes. You’re supposed to be dead. Mama, make her go away!” Never had I heard such abject terror. Beasts of earth and sky, what had they told him?
“Hush, Gerick,” said Philomena, nudging him aside and smoothing the bedclothes he had rumpled. “Calm yourself. She’s leaving right away. Now, give me the ring before you drop it.”
The boy clung to the red coverlet, shaking and completely drained of color. His voice had faded to a whisper. “Go away. You shouldn’t be here. Go away. Go away.”
Philomena’s aunt looked triumphant.
I didn’t know quite what to do. Controlled retreat seemed best. “I am certainly not a witch, and the last thing in the world I would want is to harm an intelligent boy such as yourself. Your father and I were strangers for many years, believing terrible things of each other, but by the time he died, we had learned the truth-that the evils in our lives were done by the wicked men who killed him. All was made right between us then, and that’s why he sent me to you. But I know it’s complicated. I hope that as you learn more about me, you’ll not be afraid. And if there comes a time when you would like me to tell you more about your father, what he was like when he was your age, what things he liked to play and do, I’ll come back here and do so. For now, I’ll leave as you’ve asked.”
They must have filled the child with all the worst teaching about sorcery. Even so, I would never have expected Tomas’s child to be so dreadfully afraid. I nodded to Philomena, who was paying more attention to the signet ring than to her trembling child, and left the room. A wide-eyed Nancy stood outside the doorway. Unhappy, unsatisfied, I asked her to bring my cloak and summon my driver. It was certainly not my place to comfort the boy.
As I descended the stairs, I met a small party coming up. Nellia was leading a gentleman so formidable in appearance that you could never mistake him once you’d met. His dark curly hair and tangled eyebrows were streaked with gray, but his cheerful, intelligent black eyes, giant nose, and drooping earlobes, heavy with dark hair, had changed not a whit since the last time I’d seen him.
“Lady Seriana, have you met the physician Ren Wesley?” asked the housekeeper.
“Indeed so,” I said. “Though it was many years ago.”
“My lady!” said the gentleman, his bow only half obscuring his surprise. “I never would have thought to find you here. I was not even sure- Well, it is a considerable pleasure to see you in good health.”
Ren Wesley had once been my dinner partner at the home of a mutual acquaintance. The animated conversation with the well-read physician had turned a dreary prospect into a stimulating evening. On the day of Karon’s trial the sight of the renowned physician among the spectators had prompted me to argue that a healer’s skills were not usually considered evil, but rather marvelous and praiseworthy.
“I’m surprised to find you here also, sir, a full day’s journey from Montevial. My sister-in-law is fortunate to have such skill at her call.”
“Her Grace is difficult to refuse,” said the physician. “And, indeed, she is in need of care.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “May I ask-I never expected to have the opportunity-but I would very much appreciate a few words with you once I’ve seen to the duchess.”
“I was just leaving.”
“Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that. I assumed-hoped- that you might be here to care for the young duke while his mother is unable to do so.” The physician’s broad face creased into a disappointed frown, and he lowered his voice. “The boy is in desperate need of some looking after, especially since his father’s death. You’ve seen it, have you not-how troubled he is?”
“I’ve only met the boy today.”
Philomena’s aunt appeared at the top of the stair. “Sir physician, your dallying is insupportable. The duchess awaits.”
Ren Wesley called up to her. “Madam, I have journeyed for most of a day to wait upon the good lady. Inform Her Grace that a portly old man, stiff from a long carriage ride, does not move so quickly up the stairs as sylphlike creatures such as yourself. Only a moment more and I shall be at her side.” His scowl gave way to a raised eyebrow and a twinkle in the eye as soon as he turned back to me. “I would speak to you on the boy’s behalf, my lady. Now, if no other time is available.”
Unlike my nephew, I had never been the master of my own curiosity. “You should go up,” I said. “I can postpone my departure for a little while. I’ll be in the music room.”
“Thank you, my lady. I will rejoin you as speedily as may be.”
I sent word to Renald that our departure was delayed and returned to the music room. Sadly, this room was more neglected than the library, cobwebs draped over a standing harp as if the spiders were trying to add new strings to it. I straightened the portrait of my mother that hung over the hearth. My fragile, lovely mother had brought music and grace to this musty warriors’ haven. She had been afraid of war and hated talk of it. When she had died so young-I was but nine years old-people had said that life as a Leiran warrior’s wife had been too harsh for her. I had vowed to be stronger. Strange how things work out.
I ought to go. No need to concern myself with the child. By spring Philomena would be mobile again and would take her children to Montevial. Though I would be sorry to see Comigor left vacant, perhaps it would be better for the boy. Surely in the capital city some friend of Tomas’s would take him under his wing.
As I picked idly at the strings of a lute that hung on the wall, that consideration led me to think of Darzid, Tomas’s cynical, unscrupulous military aide. Darzid was an enigma, a charmingly amoral man who had attached himself to my family eighteen years before. With only flimsy proof, I was convinced that Darzid’s mysteries were connected with my brother’s terrible deeds, and, ultimately, with the soulless Zhid warriors who had killed Tomas and tried to destroy D’Arnath’s Bridge. Darzid was unlikely to concern himself with Tomas’s child. But the possibility that Philomena might turn to him for the boy’s tutelage kept me in the music room waiting for Ren Wesley. If I could discourage any such association through the good offices of the physician, I had to do so.
Almost an hour later the leonine head poked itself through the music-room door. “May I?”
“Please, come in. I hope everything is well with my sister-in-law.”
Heaving a massive sigh, the physician lowered himself to a high-backed chair that creaked woefully at the burden. “As I expected, the duchess needed only a good measure of reassurance. I’ve recommended that she keep close to her bed this time in hopes we may bring this child into the world for more than a single day. The last two arrived well beforetime, and, as such infants will, they lacked the stamina to survive more than a few hours. Every day we can prolong Her Grace’s confinement gives the little one a better chance. But I ramble. You desire to be off.”
“I do, but it’s not for lack of interest in renewing our acquaintance. I’ve nothing but good memories of our evening’s encounter.”
The physician clucked his tongue. “What dreadful dinner parties the countess concocted! That particular evening was the only one in my memory when I did not return home swearing to renounce society completely. I looked forward to meeting you again. But the next time I saw you, you were in a witness box before the king, vowing it was possible for a healer to bring his patient back from the dead.” Elbows resting on his thick k
nees, chin propped on his clasped hands, Ren Wesley examined my face as if I were some rare symptom to be added to his store of knowledge. “Ah, madam, do you understand what questions your story raised in me? The appalling truth of my own ignorance…”
“Surely you know that to discuss such matters would put us both in violation of the law.” His frankness was disarming, but I had lived too long to ignore the consequences of unbridled speech. Any door or window could conceal an informer. Only sorcerers were burned alive, but those who countenanced sorcery, even by speech, likewise paid a mortal price: beheading or hanging, according to their rank. So Leiran law had stipulated for four hundred and fifty years.
“Yes… well… there are those among us who listen and think somewhat more independently than we have the courage to display. But in the interests of timeliness as well as safety, I will concede. Truly your nephew is of more immediate concern. You say you’ve met him?”
“He’s the reason I’m here…” I told Ren Wesley of my promise to Tomas and the message he had sent to his son.
“They did not get on, you know,” mused the physician. He leaned back in his chair and took out a pipe, proceeding through the rituals of filling and tamping. “Gerick clearly admired his father a great deal, yet from the time the child left the nursery, he would scarcely open his mouth in his father’s presence. The duke was quite concerned. Knowing I had sired six sons of my own, he consulted me several times, even asking me to examine the boy for any sign of disorder.”
“And what did you find?”
“Never had the opportunity to discover anything. Twice I attempted an examination, and twice the child went into a fit, almost making himself ill.”
Just as he had in Philomena’s room.
